


Proof

by Hellesgift



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 00:31:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hellesgift/pseuds/Hellesgift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Proving the rule.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proof

by Hellesgift

* * *

Jim woke up to the faint odor of...well, the best description was some mad-scientist mix of sauerkraut, yogurt, and tofu just a day past prime. He recognized the smell. 

_God_. Go back to sleep, in the faint hope that Sandburg was, in actuality, experimenting with black-forest fermented milk and soy cookery? Or get up and face the fact that somebody had made _Sandburg_ smell like this? He rolled over, groaning quietly. Oh well...on the bright side, maybe he'd get to hurt someone. 

Someone deserved major hurt. What a stench. 

The stink circled him as he pulled on a pair of faded jeans and made his bed. It reached out and held him back, pushing at him as he slowly, methodically forced his way through it. Sandburg--stink central--was sitting cross-legged on the couch with his laptop perched on the coffee-table in front of him. 

The dejected slump of Sandburg's posture telegraphed misery; an uneasy hand through his hair signaled humiliation; but it was the overwhelming funk that Jim set about interpreting: a dash of mocked-in-public; a hearty helping of justly-chastised; delicate topnotes of dejection--all layered over a strong base of shame. 

What a way to start the weekend. 

Jim paused halfway down the stairs, waiting to catch Sandburg's attention. By god, something had to make waking up to that stink worthwhile and...yep, there it was. He posed slightly, enjoying the subconscious journey of Sandburg's wandering gaze. A good nanosecond on the pecs, a nice long millisecond on the package, and Sandburg had once again justified too-tight jeans and a gym-membership. As eye-contact was finally established and Sandburg managed a rewarmed smile, Jim furtively readjusted his stance. The jeans were probably halving his sperm-count, but it wasn't like he had a real use for the little guys these days. If a tadpole flotilla had to die for his split-second of midlife affirmation, so be it. 

Meaningful moment past, Jim set about figuring a way to fumigate the loft. First order of business, determine cause of stench. He ran through various methods, finally opting for the least-efficient way of getting the information. 

"What's up, Chief?" 

Sandburg didn't meet his eye, just kept up a steady rhythm of solitary keystrokes. "Nothing much. Got some not-so-great news." 

Uh huh. Flanking maneuver--"Naomi okay?"--knowing that the smell would be completely different if she weren't. 

"What?" Sandburg looked suddenly remorseful, and the reek intensified. "Oh yeah, she's fine. Didn't mean for you to think...she's fine. Well, as of her last email she's fine." 

Almost a month ago, but Sandburg didn't seem unduly worried. Sandburg's partner had a curfew--'Where have you been, man, do you know what time it is?'--but his mother could be incommunicado for weeks. 

"Just checking one of my lists and...nothing really. I mean, certainly not a big deal..." 

Okay, second option. Jim tuned out the dismissive noises in favor of the faint reflection of the laptop's screen, curving smoothly around Sandburg's coffee mug. He carefully filtered extraneous light, forcing the words to coalesce like mystery pictures. 

"...kind of feels like one, but that's probably because I'm a little oversensitive to issues of competence right now..." 

The words grudgingly aligned themselves into a table. It reminded him of Connor's expat network, which got her a flurry of emails after esoteric sports-matches on ESPNinfinity, or whatever the hell channel showed fake football... 

"...I haven't checked in a while, kind of busy, and come to find out I made--right before...you know, _everything_...I posted this discussion on tribal religions in...doesn't matter. Anyway, come to find out I made this huge fucking error, and I'm basically now a hissing and a byword..." 

....but the name that wavered in the smooth ceramic was different. Jim strained to read the reversed writing... 

"...absolutely idiotic, freshman-level mistake of assuming that the religious tenets' carved-in-stone status was figurative as well as literal. Well, mythologically literal. And it'd be bad enough if this were some hobby, but it's my _life_..." 

Intensified stench interrupted Jim's translation. Never-forgotten remnant of Spouse101: know when to grunt. 

"...yeah, I know, man. It's...I'm okay. Past tense, right? But it..." 

Sensitive listening moment past, Jim returned to reflection: _AnthropogoList_. 

"...used to be my life..." 

When academics get wacky. 

"...and I don't know what to do. Should I apologize or--" 

Covert ops only partially successful, Jim settled for dialogue. "Never apologize; never explain." 

Sandburg greeted the sudden interjection of actual syllables with admirable calm. "Yeah, whatever man...that the Ranger Creed? What is it--uh...'your friends don't need it, and your enemies just take advantage', right?" Sandburg grimaced, and Jim forced himself to breathe through his mouth as the ripe fug deepened. 

"Besides, who the hell am I going to apologize to?" 

He was still chewing on his nails, Jim noted with a flash of distaste. He hadn't broached the subject, assuming that it would stop once Sandburg was through with the academy. But now... 

"...the _gods_? I mean, put aside my personal objections to live-animal sacrifices, what are the odds that the gods are on this list?" 

...they were going to have to talk about it. Bitten, bleeding nails were not impressive across the table in an interrogation. 

"Like they're sitting up there checking email. 'Hey, did you see this new theory on ritual use of inhalants?' 'Yeah, not bad. By the way, schedule a plague of boils for that NthroDoc loser.' Not likely." 

Unless, of course, they could work out some sort of good-cop/unstable-'I can't always control him, kid, you won't like him when he's angry'-cop thing. That might work. With Sandburg's hair growing out, they had a chance of projecting a real menacing aura of insanity. 

"So really the best option is to cut and run." 

Especially if the perp had been traumatized by Ronald McDonald as a child. 

"I mean, I could switch names...probably should in the interest of truth in self-advertising, but what the hell. I'm kind of attached to it. Made some friends. And it's not like PogoList is the only thing out there. I've got other options." 

Pretty freaky guy, ol' Ron. 

"I'll just head out. Greener pastures. Into the sunset. Standard Sandburg maneuver--just look at Mom. In a month or so, it'll be petty to talk about a little thing like...hell, she'll have stories from Tibet or Patagonia or whereverthehell. No contest..." 

Wait a second. Back up. Spouse201: When to rewind and really listen... 

"...learned literally at her knee. And if someday you realize that you're not really heading _to_ but running from, and it's brought home that the cricket team or the polo team don't like you any more than the football team and this time the jocks have sport-related weapons...well, it's probably time. Move along, nothing to see here--" 

"Sandburg?" 

"Yeah, Jim?" 

"What the hell are you muttering about?" 

"What? Oh." Sandburg ran a hand through his wildly disordered bird's nest again and cleared his throat. "I made this completely stupid mistake. Confused the religious doctrines of two related sects. Took advantage of my first slow weekend to check the responses and discovered I'm, like, this complete persona non grata to all right-thinking anthropologists." 

From the intensified stink, Sandburg was humiliated even to repeat this story. It was hardly Jim's fault that the sky seemed not to have fallen. 

"This is bothering you?" 

Sandburg sighed. "Look, think of it...imagine you had submitted an article to _Police_ and you misquoted Miranda. Huge readership. Shame and humiliation. Any of this getting through, or you want to grab a cup of coffee and we'll discuss it later?" 

A sharp topnote of exasperation cut through Sandburg's surrounding stink, and Jim allowed himself a tentative breath. He could handle exasperation--he had a lot of training. But the primary stench was still there, and he had to do something... 

"Chief, at least...I mean, you make a major mistake now, someone could get killed." 

A long, smelly silence. 

"Jim, stop making me feel better. Get some coffee, and leave me to sift through the wreckage of my anonymous anthropological life." 

So that hadn't been helpful. But he'd done the listening thing, and Sandburg still stank. "Isn't leaving a little drastic?" 

The smell shifted, grew somehow mustier. Either Sandburg was drifting into memories or the towels needed washing. "Look, it's not a big deal. I came to this group from another one, where I got into this massive philosophical debate over--" he must have noticed Jim's eyes glazing, because he waved his hands, "--doesn't matter. Anyway, I decided to quit before my screen burst into flames. So no biggie. It's what we do. When the going gets tough--or humiliating or, in Mom's case, just not-so-groovy--Sandburgs get going." He shrugged. "So I move on again. Not a big--" 

The room stood silent, frozen in the aftermath of violence. 

"If that's broken, man, you're going to pay for it." Sandburg kept his eyes firmly fixed on the laptop, now a few feet away from him on the skewed table. Jim didn't quite remember why he had kicked the coffee-table, but now that he had, it felt pretty damn good. He moved into the space he'd created, crowding Sandburg into finally looking up. 

"Standard maneuver?" 

Sandburg glared at him. Righteous anger was quickly scenting the room, and Jim inhaled it like oxygen. "You _know_ that, Jim. That's what I do. No reason to hang around where I'm not wanted." 

Sandburg didn't so much as shift when he loomed closer, and Jim loved him for it. "One week. Alex. Dissertation." Each word was accompanied by a light shove, and Sandburg ended up balanced against the back of the sofa. 

Knocking Jim's hand away roughly, Sandburg intensified his glare, then paused. His eyes flickered to the left and then came back, shuttered. "Just proving the rule, man." Putting a firm hand on Jim's hip, he shoved him bodily aside. "So unless you have some actually helpful input, I'll just get back to my tail-between-legs routine..." He hooked one foot under the edge of the table to pull it back towards the sofa. 

The table came to an abrupt stop against Jim's calves. Spouse401--remembered through a haze of ecstasy, looking down into Caro's bright laughter as she celebrated yet another concession, her voice rich with victory and lust--"It takes a strong man to refuse a blow job." 

The stench crystallized, and then Sandburg rolled disbelieving eyes up to meet Jim's gaze. "And _how_ is this pertinent? I'm supposed to--what?--make a blind offer to the list?" He raised his voice into an annoying nasal sing-song: "'Anyone interested in apology-head, please contact'-- _shit_!" as Jim kicked his feet apart. 

Dropping to his knees, Jim roughly yanked down Sandburg's ratty academy sweatpants. He breathed hotly onto Sandburg's skin, watching the near-instantaneous reaction, feeling the temperature fluctuate as bloodflow took a rapid detour south. Now things were smelling better. Last night's spaghetti stain on the sweats helped, of course, but the main improvement was the swift transition to musky, loamed attraction. Jim buried his nose in the crease of Sandburg's thigh, enduring the annoying tickle of hair in return for the scent of sweat and desire and Sandburg. They could make a fucking plug-in of this: _BlairLust_ \--for all your household stink-removing needs. 

Sandburg was making little incoherent sounds of protest, but it didn't do to listen to Sandburg sometimes. _No_ means no, definitely. No argument. But sometimes... 

Sometimes "shit...no, don't...Jim... _Jim_..." didn't mean no. Sometimes you had to trust the scent, which was rapidly turning savory and dark, like almonds, like earth. Sometimes you had to pin a kid against the wall and call him names before you first got this smell, before he calmed you and spurred you and scented his office with summer heat. 

"Jim, what... _god_...oh please... _fuck_... _please_..." and Jim raised his head from Sandburg's groin, reaching up press a fist against Sandburg's pounding heart. 

"Feeling strong?" He could stop now. A few minutes from now when it smelled like illicit nights in separate rooms, then maybe he couldn't stop. So he pulled back, forcing Sandburg's wide, wild eyes to meet his. 

The eyes widened further, pupils shot black like oil slicks without the rainbows. Slowly, Sandburg half nodded, then corrected himself quickly, shaking his head with sharp decisiveness. 

Not strong. That was his partner. 

His skin tasted salty, margarita tart. Jim nuzzled lower, taking his first long lick of cock, grinning with feral pleasure at the harsh gasp that elicited. The scent had competition now, a steady stream of half-vocalized encouragement that fought for Jim's attention. 

"Fuck... _fuck_...shit... fuck..." 

Jim reached up to feel those sweetsoft lips spewing filth. The air was vibrating around him, the earth shaking below, a tidal wave fast approaching. 

"Fuck...fu...uhn...uhn...uhn..." 

Sandburg gagged his moans with Jim's fingers, sucking them in, licking, tasting. Dueling oral-fixations--Jim smiled around his own personal fetish. He followed the new, insistent rhythm as Sandburg swallowed his fingers, suckling voraciously, biting softly in a way that made Jim fiercely glad their positions weren't reversed. 

"uhn... _uhn_...uhn...uh-uhn...uh..." 

Talking with his mouth full, the sad result of a permissive upbringing. Jim jerked his head slightly as his fingers were nibbled one last time and released. After the humid heat of Sandburg's mouth, the air felt raw. He quickly brought his dripping fingers down... 

" _uhn_..." 

...to circle Sandburg's hole, wetting the short, wiry hairs, smoothing the sinslick skin. 

"uhn...fuck... _fuck_...Jim...fu... _Jim_..." 

Mouth full of cock, finger at the hole, Jim paused. This was...maybe...sometimes you needed more than scent. Sandburg _smelled_ ready. Ready, hell. Sandburg smelled like popcorn and tidepools, tasted like soonspunk, but... 

"...fuck _please_..." 

...it didn't take...what? Think, _think_ dammit. It didn't take...it didn't take a real strong man to decline to take it up the ass. Jim paused for a moment to remember how to form words, ask the question... 

"... _fuck_..." 

Something in the way... 

"...god _dammit_!..." 

Before he could remember how to remove cock and engage mouth, Sandburg answered his question. Flinging one leg around and pulling, he simultaneously gagged Jim, bruised his kidney and thrust down on his finger. 

"...oh _fuck_..." 

There was a rush of bleach and salt. It would never compete with pre-climax blairlust despite Jim's cleanser fetish, but he sucked it up and swallowed it down anyway, enjoying the tingling numbness that followed. Sandburg was thrusting haphazardly, grunting deep in his throat, syncopating the fluttering contractions Jim could feel all the way up his arm. When the threat of tadpole inhalation had passed, Jim pulled back slowly. 

Sandburg was damp and red-faced, still breathing hard and obviously having difficulty focusing. Jim realized with some amusement that he hadn't even managed to get Sandburg's shirt off. Good to have a goal. 

He waited for Sandburg to speak. In his usual spirit of cooperation, Sandburg was mute. He stared up at Jim, panting and sweating, and finally Jim gave in. 

"So...what else am I the exception to?" 

He half expected 'Everything, man.' Half dreaded some maudlin variation on 'Only the bad stuff.' Instead, Sandburg lay for a long breathless moment and then burst into laughter. Kicking out with the same foot that had painfully ended Jim's internal debate, Sandburg knocked the table farther away, heedless of the computer that skittered dangerously close to the edge. 

In a disorienting flash, Jim found himself under his hot, smelly, spunkfunky partner, who pinned him, grinning wildly, scrabbling frantically at Jim's painfully tight jeans. 

"Sandburg, I asked you...uhn...god..." 

Sandburg hummed enthusiastically, mouth full. 

"... _fuck_..." 

What else was there to say, really? 


End file.
